


All the Help You Can Get

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [42]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Feelings, M/M, Peril, Protectiveness, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-29 00:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Washington receives alarming news.





	All the Help You Can Get

After three weeks, two days and six hours of tempestuous negotiations—none of which he is officially party to but nearly all of which he is physically present for—Washington stands on the verge of restless mutiny.

The Nelson in orbit is no more at liberty than he is, but Washington longs to return anyway. At least aboard his vessel he would know his proper place in the hierarchy. _His ship_, even when his superiors are near enough to override his commands. His crew, regardless of the handful of them who have been commandeered for this apparently endless mission.

He is trying to compose a graceful yet adamant request in his head when a squirrely diplomatic assistant hurries into the negotiation. Everything goes immediately silent throughout the massive hall, as the diminutive intruder rushes to the chairman presiding at the table of ambassadors.

The chairman’s unreadable expression doesn’t change, but he rises in a flourish of skirts and presses his palms flat to the tabletop.

Washington listens in confusion as a brief recess is announced, then quickly pushes up from his own chair along the perimeter of the hall. His security personnel comprise a fraction of the support staff mobilizing as the parties step away from the table, but they still have jobs to do, procedures to follow. Washington does his part, directing his people and escorting the Federation delegates from the room.

It’s not until their contingent is ensconced in a private antechamber that he spies one of the Regulan ministers murmuring to Braddock. When the minister departs, Washington approaches the admiral, fully prepared to make noise if his superior freezes him out. Braddock wanted him here for this mission, he can damn well keep Washington in the loop.

“Why did they recess?” Washington keeps his voice low, for Braddock’s ears alone even as Dinwiddie approaches, but there is unapologetic steel in the words. He can feel the eyes of his security team from across the antechamber, Burr’s the most piercing and curious of all.

Braddock waits until his fellow admiral is in range, but he is looking directly at Washington when he says, “There’s been an incident.”

Washington’s blood ices. The Federation ambassadors hover a short distance behind him—clearly impatient for answers.

“What kind of incident?” Washington continues to pitch his questions low in case the information needs to remain officers-only.

But Dinwiddie raises his eyes, catching the nearest ambassador’s attention and silently summoning the lot of them. Quick as that the small circle expands, and all gazes turn to Braddock.

Braddock continues in the same cautious tone. “A ransom note was received, threatening the lives of Federation citizens from our own staff and security team. When investigation was made, the named parties couldn’t be found on the premises. It appears we have been compromised.”

“_Who_ was taken?” Washington snaps, and it’s a testament to the seriousness of the situation that the demand earns him raised eyebrows but no censure.

Braddock hands him a screen with a list—Washington didn’t even see anything change hands between minister and admiral—and he reads every name. He doesn’t do so aloud, but he also doesn’t startle when Ambassador von Steuben takes a position beside him and begins to recite the list for the others.

There are half a dozen names Washington recognizes only faintly from among the Federation’s diplomatic staff. Another seven of his security team, off-duty for the day.

And Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton.

For several seconds Washington does not trust himself to speak, staring at the final name with a rush of rage and disbelief and terror. His vision blurs as von Steuben finishes reading, and then Washington raises his head and looks Braddock directly in the eye.

“What are your orders, sir?” Washington’s voice is cold and steady to his own ears, and what he really means is _Tell me what to do_. Or even better, _Tell me to handle it_. Aaron Burr is already standing in this room, the most hyper-competent security chief Washington has ever known. At the barest signal, Washington will loose the man on the surrounding city with all the manpower necessary.

But Braddock only gives Washington a grim look and says, “We wait. Local authorities will find our people.”

“For all we know, local authorities are responsible for them going missing in the first place,” von Steuben points out, uncharacteristically somber.

“Nonetheless,” Dinwiddie concurs with Braddock, effectively crushing any hope Washington may have harbored about obtaining a better answer. “The situation is delicate. These negotiations are already a polarizing event in the region. We can’t risk inciting a riot.”

Washington swallows back a vitriolic retort that would almost surely get him demoted. “What are the ransom demands?”

“Classified above your security clearance, General,” Ambassador Dinwiddie says sternly. There is something almost punitive in his tone, as though to suggest that if Washington had agreed to participate in these negotiations more directly, maybe he would be in a position to know all the information now.

Rage twists beneath Washington’s skin, and he tenses, unsure what he’s going to do but ready to propel himself forward.

He startles at an unfamiliar hand curling around his wrist and tightening hard. A wordless admonishment, from von Steuben of all people, coaxing him back from a dangerous edge.

“General Washington?” Von Steuben asks in a deceptively light tone, releasing his wrist now that he has the general’s attention. “Are you quite all right?”

Washington looks at von Steuben, not quite capable of gratitude. Then he looks past the ambassador, to where Burr waits at attention just out of range. Burr’s expression is inscrutable, but Washington has worked with him long enough to intuit precisely what is going on beneath the controlled exterior. Patient curiosity, worry, distilled protectiveness, and a readiness to do whatever his general commands.

Even if those commands do not strictly follow the rigid protocols of rank and procedure.

Washington guards his expression as he turns to regard Admirals Braddock and Dinwiddie. He does his best to look chastened, though he makes no effort to pretend he’s satisfied with his orders. If he lays it on too thick, they’ll never trust him to keep his head down.

“Sir.” He addresses himself to Braddock. “Permission to brief my team? Classified or not, they’ll have questions about their missing crew mates. I have to tell them _something_.”

“Exercise discretion,” is all Braddock says, before turning to tend his own duties.

Washington stands perfectly still as the circle disburses around him. Even von Steuben eventually disappears, though questions and sympathy linger in his eyes.

Finally alone, Washington raises his head and summons Burr to his side without a word.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Tempest, Grace, Vessel


End file.
